


A Touch of the Dizzies

by imafriendlydalek



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Possibly Pre-Slash, Protective Steve, Tony Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets hurt during a battle but brushes it off. Steve knows him better than that. The team bands together to fix him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch of the Dizzies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orbingarrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow/gifts).



> This is for orbingarrow, who wanted a fic about Tony getting hurt and brushing it off but Steve notices.

The Doombot was tightening its grip on Steve, but with his arms crushed against his sides, there was nothing he could do.

There was nothing he could do but shout as the Doombot swung its other arm around to where Iron Man was flying in, knocking him backwards at a dizzying speed.

Nothing he could do but watch as Iron Man crashed into the pillar of the elevated subway track, head first, then plummeted to the ground.

It felt like years passed before Clint managed to sink an EMP arrow between what would have been the Doombot’s eyes and the bot went down in shower of sparks. Steve winced as he pried himself out of its now loosened grip and raced over to where Tony lay unmoving.

“Iron Man?” he said, lifting Tony’s shoulders.

There was no response.

“Tony?” he tried again, tapping the suit to open the faceplate.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open, darting around without focusing on anything.

“Tony!”

“Nnnnghhh,” Tony groaned. “‘Mokaaaay.” 

A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

“No, you’re not. Hang in there, Tony, we’re gonna get you taken care of.”

***

A mild concussion, the doctor confirmed when they finally managed to get Tony to Medical despite his protests that he was fine. A few weeks of rest and, more importantly, no work, he’d ordered.

For Tony Stark, that might as well have been a death sentence.

It only took fifteen minutes for him to get fidgety, half an hour for him to start whining that using a tablet didn’t count as working and an hour for him to bemoan that he wasn’t even allowed to watch TV.

“Tony, you need to rest,” Steve said neutrally. He probably wasn’t going to listen, but that wasn’t going to stop Steve from continuing to tell him.

Tony whined and flopped sideways on the couch. “Whoa” was all he said before his eyes rolled back in his head as he clutched his stomach.

“Tony!” Steve rushed over to the couch, slipping an arm under Tony’s neck to catch him.

Tony was white as a sheet when he opened his eyes again. “Ugh, that was… unpleasant.”

“Hey,” Steve shushed him, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “Stay here, close your eyes for a bit. Rest,” he added more insistently.

“Yeah, okay, sure Cap,” Tony grumbled but let himself sink back into the cushions.

***

He did rest, for a while at least. He was up and about and back to his normal workaholic schedule after about eight days, but it was a start. Steve had made it his mission to keep an eye on Tony and make sure he didn’t overdo it, so he took up his position on the couch in the workshop with his sketchbook while Tony bantered with his bots.

He said he was fine, he insisted to the doctors that he was fine, he would tell anyone who asked that he was fine, which was a dead giveaway to Steve that he wasn’t.

The first time Steve noticed was three weeks after the Doombot, when Tony reached up to get a coffee mug down from one of the higher shelves and stumbled backwards. “Oy,” he let out, catching himself on the kitchen counter. Steve resisted the urge to rush over and catch him. That would only put Tony on edge and he would hide whatever was bothering him even deeper.

So he’d watched, pretending to be focused on smearing cream cheese on his bagel, as Tony clutched the counter and stared at his shoes. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen - Steve counted the seconds that passed before Tony righted himself. Twenty-four. Not good. Tony opened the dishwasher, took out a mug, rinsed it in the sink (with a sponge and dish soap and everything) and filled it. Definitely not good.

***

The second time Steve noticed was in the workshop. Tony was tinkering away at something (Steve had given up keeping track of what long ago, especially since Tony had a habit of working on four or five different things at once, bouncing between projects like a honeybee buzzing from one flower to the next) when U had knocked over a toolbox. Its contents spilled out over the floor, nuts and bolts rolling across the workshop.

“Go pack yourself in a box, you useless hunk of metal,” Tony chided. “The city college, that’s where I’m sending you. No, scratch that - a community college in Jersey.” He leaned forward to pick up a wrench that had landed near his foot, then swayed as he stood again. “Shiiiiit,” he let out quietly, grabbing U’s strut to steady himself.

Steve watched with a concerned frown. “You alright?” he asked, carefully hiding the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, fine,” Tony shot back. “Just stood up too fast.”

***

Any doubt that something was wrong with Tony was thoroughly washed away days later. Tony had declared himself fit for action and taken the Mark XLVII for a test flight - nothing too out of the ordinary, just a few high-altitude climbs, some duck-and-roll maneuvers and a few evasions from the explosive arrows Clint fired in his direction. The suit had passed the test with flying colors and Tony had landed on the landing pad in his customary three-point position. Then he’d flipped the faceplate up and puked his guts out on the landing pad.

“Classy, Stark.” Which was, of course, Clint’s way of asking if he was okay.

“Fuck you, Barton,” Tony groaned when he was finished heaving. He stepped out of the suit carefully and sat down on the patio couch. “Musta had bad sushi last night.”

Natasha shot Steve a worried look, which said more than any words ever could. 

“We had pizza for dinner,” Steve pointed out.

“I had sushi for lunch. I think. Whatever.” Tony waved a hand at them dismissively. “Why are you all here?”

“We were watching your flight test,” Bruce said as he emerged through the patio doors with a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

Tony accepted the water and drank it in careful sips. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “Glad at least one person cares about my well-being.”

“Yeah, about that...” Bruce said as he shoved Tony’s shoulder hard enough to knock him on his side.

“What the- oh! Fuck.” Tony clutched the side of the cushion as he lay on his side, his head tilted slightly upwards. Bruce stepped forward and shone a light in his eyes. “Ow,” Tony protested.

Bruce frowned. “Yep, you were right, Steve. Must be a remnant from that crash.”

“What? Have you been conspiring?” Tony objected, but no one paid him any attention.

“As we suspected?” Natasha asked, her tone neutral. 

Bruce nodded. “Yes. You know what to do.”

Natasha smiled. Tony bolted upright with a frightened look, then clutched the cushion again as the dizziness started again. Natasha sat next to him with a reassuring smile, though smiles from Natasha tended to do the opposite to Tony. 

“Are you gonna jab me in the neck again?” Tony asked meekly.

“No, not this time. Here, look at me.” Natasha turned his head with a soft touch so that he was facing her. Their eyes met briefly, then she shoved him hard so he fell back onto his side.

“Gah!” Tony lay on his side, grabbing at the cushions. Steve wanted to move to him, but he knew this had to be done.

Natasha stood again, took the arm Tony was lying on and pulled him quickly onto his other side.

“What the ffffffff,” Tony exhaled. He swatted at the air around him as he groaned. Bruce knelt down next to him and shone the light in his eyes again.

“Better,” he said as he stood up.

“I hate you all,” Tony grumbled.

“It’ll pass,” Natasha said with a shrug. She nodded at Steve to signal that it was his turn.

Steve sat next to Tony and tugged his arm to pull him into a sitting position next to him. “Hey,” he said softly, looking into Tony’s eyes. They were fixed on his. A wave of relief washed over him and pooled in his stomach. Good.

“Hey yourself,” Tony replied. Then he quirked his head, realization sinking in. “Hey, that didn’t suck. I can sit up again.” He let himself fall to his side again. “Huh, fancy that.” 

When he sat up again, there was a wide grin on his face. “Hey, no more roller coasters in my head.” His eyes were fixed on Steve.

“That was kind of the idea,” Bruce said.

“Next time, _tell us_ what’s going on so we can help you,” Steve said, taking Tony’s hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You know, that might not be a terrible idea.”

Steve smiled. “Good. Now go brush your teeth. I’ll hose down the patio.”

Tony patted Steve’s shoulder as he stood. “Thanks Cap,” he said quietly, just loud enough for only Steve to hear.


End file.
